


Chaos is a friend of mine

by emeralddawn



Series: RotG kinkmeme fills [8]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:58:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeralddawn/pseuds/emeralddawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are Things Jack Can No Longer Do, and this is why.  (Used to be "If at first you don't succeed, try the Warren".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If at first you don't succeed, try the Warren

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Things Jack Frost Can No Longer Do As Guardian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/634933) by [Dorksidefiker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorksidefiker/pseuds/Dorksidefiker). 



> For [this prompt](http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/3036.html?thread=6189788#cmt6189788) on the rotg kinkmeme.

_85: No attempting to break through to other realities in order to create my own "Big Four"_

\--

Jack was in the library. This worried North, since as a rule the only time Jack researched anything was for a prank. And if he was planning a prank, even odds were the elves were involved, and his beautiful workshop would once again become the scene of mass destruction.

He approached Jack as quietly as he could, given he was six-foot-something with shoulders wider than a star linebacker’s. Jack was so absorbed in his reading he didn’t even notice. North took the time to scan the books scattered around the young winter spirit and paled. Time travel, dimension travel, wormholes, theory of multiple universes…many of those books he had used once upon a time to create his snow-globes.

“Jack, what is it you are doing?” he asked finally.

Jack twitched and swung around to face North. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, and when he smiled there were a disturbing amount of teeth. “Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons,” he said, words running together so it sounded more like ‘risathebraytagledragons.’ North had no idea what he was talking about.

Jack dragged over The Laptop (and yes, it did deserve its capitals, that bloody thing had been the spark of many a prank and Jack had somehow convinced the yetis to connect it to what Jack called ‘tumblr’, and North still wasn’t exactly clear on what that meant) and showed him a picture. Jack was immediately recognizable with his white hair and blue hoodie and staff. But next to him were three other people and a…creature (lizard? wyrm? dragon? what?). There was a girl in a green dress with a wild mass of red curls; a girl in pink with blonde hair trailing out of the frame; a boy in fur with green eyes and floppy brown hair, his hand reaching up to scratch the chin of the black-skinned green-eyed dragon(?). “Look! It’s my Big Four! I have a Big Four! I mean, we’re not all in the same universe, and we haven’t met (yet!), and y’know one’s Disney and one’s Pixar and two’re Dreamworks, but what does that matter?” Jack pointed at the books and exclaimed, “Magic!”

It was like listening to Jack speak Old Pookan, or some equally obscure language. He heard the words, but the meaning escaped him. Finally, after staring at the eager Jack for an elongated moment, he said, “Jack, you know what we have said about getting ideas from the internets.”

“ _Internets_ ,” Jack said under his breath with a mocking tone. North ignored him.

“What have we said,” North prompted. 

“Pranks inspired by the internet are to be performed by professional stuntmen or I will end up on America’s Funniest Home Videos,” Jack intoned. He added, “I don’t know how that’s supposed to be a punishment. That show’s hilarious.”

North thought of some of the things he’d seen on AFHV, and winced.

“Point stands,” North said with finality. “No internet-inspired pranks.”

Jack still looked mutinous, glancing at the books around him in a way he probably thought surreptitious. North added, “I will put you on restricted library access list. Must be with adult at all times.”

“What?” Jack protested. “No! That’s not fair!”

“Only so much crazy I can have in workshop, and elves fill quota,” North said. He ushered Jack out of the library, making a mental note to send in a yeti to clean up. (Not the one that had modified Jack’s Laptop.) “Go bother Bunnymund. He has library and not enough crazy in the Warren.”

Jack’s expression changed from pouting child to scheming teenager in a split second. “I’ll tell him you told me so when he comes after me in a homicidal rage.”

“Not in workshop,” North said, and pushed Jack out into the cold. Jack gave him one last devil-child grin and disappeared with a rush of snow to the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image I’m referencing is [here](http://pandatails.deviantart.com/art/RISE-OF-THE-BRAVE-TANGLED-DRAGONS-358019713). It’s by pandatails on devArt.


	2. You realize of course this means war

_97: Elves do not need ~~mini~~ catapults of any size, shape, or origin._

\--

The bookstore wasn’t nearly as good a research tool as North’s library, because most people couldn’t see him and thus freaked out when books appeared to read themselves. Still, he liked to people-watch. You could learn the most interesting things by seeing what books people read.

One woman wandered through the bargain-priced books, and stopped by the hardcover photography book that was essentially a National Geographic compilation of winter around the world. Jack loved that book. The NatGeo photographers had captured some of his best work.

She flipped through the book and made her way to the check out line. Jack drifted over, sending a faint puff of air to encourage her to turn to his favorite photo. She made appropriately awed sounds, and Jack drifted back, proud and satisfied. He bumped into a table behind him, and whirled around to steady it before anything fell over. The woman looked up briefly, but upon seeing no one, went back to her book.

Jack was about to fly away to find someone else to watch—maybe someone in the manga section, they were usually good for reactions—when he spotted a red-and-black book laying innocently on the edge. Jack couldn’t help the devious smile as he read the title. He waited until nobody was looking and swiped it, slipping it into his hoodie pocket where it disappeared from sight.

He knew _just_ who could use this book.

It would be epic.

\--

The door slammed open, startling North into dropping his mini chisel. He swore in Russian, immediately bending down to pick it up and place it in its correct spot. His mini tools were an absolute chore to find if he lost them, but he didn’t like the time it took to make a replacement. And anyway, he’d just worn the grip in.

“How many times must I say: knock first!” North shouted at the poor distressed yeti in the doorway.

The yeti gestured frantically and said something so quickly North could only make out ‘elves’ and ‘catapult’. Those were not words North liked to hear in the same paragraph, much less the same breath. Forgetting his project, North stormed past the yeti and into complete chaos.

Peas, small stones, loose change, marbles, paintballs, bells, berries, and other vaguely round objects flew through the air. High elven war cries echoed above even the normal chaos of the workshop. Some elves enacted elaborate death scenes before falling still for a moment, then standing and finding a new target. Other elves lay where they had fallen, unconscious.

The weapons? Mini catapults made of all different materials and of differing sizes. North even spotted a trebuchet and a ballista shooting toothpicks.

“What is going on?” North roared.

Silence.

Then the elves started pointing at each other and chattering: explaining, making excuses, even threatening each other. But in that moment of quiet, North had heard the true culprit.

North stared up to where Jack Frost was clutching at one of his ceiling beams and laughing.

“Jack Frost, come down right now,” North ordered. Still laughing, the winter sprite floated down. “What is meaning of this?”

“Oh, come on, North, that was hilarious!” Jack cackled, leaning on his staff.

“Elves do not need mini catapults! Look at mess!”

“It’s not that much worse than the normal chaos around here,” Jack pointed out.

“No. More. Mini catapults.”

“Aye aye, sir!” Jack said, but his mischievous grin indicated he had something else in mind.

“I will be watching,” North threatened.

Jack waved him off, flying up a level towards the kitchen. “Whatever you say, old man.”

\--

“Well, you only said _mini_ catapults. Look, these are almost to size! And the elves had so much fun launching each other across the workshop.”

“No.”

\--

“But it’s a trebuchet, not a catapult! And this one’s an onager. And this one is a ballista, it doesn’t even throw stones!”

“No.”

\--

“You never said anything about hand-held weapons.”

_“No.”_

\--

_Addendum: Elves do not need ~~siege~~ weaponry of any sort, size, make, model, or origin. Ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you’re curious, the book Jack found was _Mini Weapons of Mass Destruction: Build Implements of Spitball Warfare_ by John Austin. He also made use of its sequel _Mini Weapons of Mass Destruction 3: Build Siege Weapons of the Dark Ages._


	3. Memes gone wrong

_74: I am not to ask Bunny to "paint me like one of his French girls."_

\--

Bunny looked up and froze. Jack was laying on his couch in only his pants, arms flung over his head, head tilted down, eyes half-closed.

“Bunny,” he said, his voice breathy and low, “paint me like one of your French girls.”

Bunny stared.

Jack held the look and the pose for a moment longer before he cracked up laughing. “Oh jeeze, Bunny, your _face_!”

For a moment, Bunny was angry, offended at Jack’s laughter, and confused over what pop-culture reference he was missing. Then he paused, and sat back on his haunches a little, a speculative gleam entering his eyes as he looked Jack over. Then his expression turned positively wicked. 

Jack’s laughter trailed off at Bunny’s silence. He asked nervously, “Bunny?”

\--

Three hours later, Jack burst out of Bunny’s burrow, his pale skin completely covered by colorful paint from his neck to his wrists to the waist of his pants. Bunny followed him out shortly after. He was holding a paintbrush and his paws were speckled in paint. “Get back here, ya gumby! I’ve not started on your legs yet!”

_“You’ll never take me aliiiiive,”_ Jack screamed as he fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just thought, what if it went all wrong (for Jack)? XD


End file.
